


the night is for hunting (the day is for sleep)

by radialarch



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-04 13:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14021691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialarch/pseuds/radialarch
Summary: “Bewhere,” Lovett demanded. “I live there! I mean, I guess I didn’t rate an invitation to the secret werewolf cabal before moving in, that’s cool, just a huge part of someone’s life I didn’t know about, not even worth mentioning—”“Actually,” Jon said, “Tommy’s coming over to my place.”





	the night is for hunting (the day is for sleep)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hopefor46](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefor46/gifts).



> happy exchange! thanks to gdgdbaby for all her help ♥
> 
> obviously, extremely fictional; title from [kipling](http://www.bartleby.com/246/1131.html).

Two weeks after he’d moved in with Tommy, Lovett stormed into Jon’s office and said, in tones of deep accusation, “Tommy’s a werewolf.”

Jon was still finishing his morning coffee. “Yeah,” he said, putting his cup down. “I know. He’s always been,” he offered when Lovett kept staring at him. “You don’t have an issue, do you? The White House is an equal opportunity employer.”

“No, I don’t, I don’t have an _issue_ ,” Lovett sputtered. “And if any of you had _told_ me, you would’ve _known_ that I don’t have—”

“Tommy must’ve told you,” Jon pointed out, reasonably. “I’m not gonna tell other people about his business. I don’t tell people that you’re gay, either.”

“That’s not—” Lovett gaped at him. “That’s not at all the same thing. You already know about me! So does Tommy! And, and the fucking President of the United States!”

“POTUS knows about Tommy.”

“Oh, of course he does.”

“Look, Tommy probably told you because he didn’t want you to come out looking for pizza at two am—”

“—oh, that’s low—”

“And run into a giant wolf in front of the door. He didn’t have to, he’s never hurt anyone.”

“I’m not worried about him hurting anyone,” Lovett scoffed. “It’s Tommy, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Okay,” said Jon, who’d had reason to discuss werewolves on more than one occasion in the last four years and seen the conversation go down the same predictable paths. “Then what the hell are you mad about?”

“I’m—” Lovett threw up his arms. “I don’t wanna find out important stuff months after everyone else knows about it!”

“He told us in the Senate,” Jon said, bewildered. “You weren’t even there.”

“Exactly!” 

Lovett stalked out of the office with his back stiff, bristling rather as if he were a wolf himself. Jon stared after him for a moment before he picked his coffee up again. It had gone cold.

———

“Did Lovett talk to you?” Jon asked Tommy when he saw him next, which was about an hour later. He’d gone to stretch his legs and ended up in lower press. “He seemed kind of upset.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t take out a full-page ad in the _New York Times_ , I guess. I don’t see what his problem is, I don’t go around telling people out of the blue. It wasn’t relevant before.”

“I know, I know,” Jon said, placating. “You weren’t hiding it, I know you.”

“Can’t, anyway.” Tommy’s mouth twitched, rueful. “Anyone can fucking— Google it. I kinda thought he might already know. The Clinton press people all did.”

“FDR had a werewolf in his cabinet,” Jon said automatically, and Tommy gave him a tolerant smile. “So what are you gonna do Tuesday night? You wanna come over?”

“He’s not still gonna be weird about this next _week_.” Tommy looked piqued at the prospect. “Come on. At this rate I’m never gonna have a proper—” He stopped short, clearing his throat. “Well.”

 _Pack_. He meant _pack_. Tommy’s ears were going faintly pink as he reached for a memo. 

Tommy wasn’t embarrassed about being a werewolf, generally, but there were things he didn’t like to discuss. Jon had the impression that it was a matter of etiquette. He’d had to piece together the finer points through a combination of offhand remarks and judicious Googling, but what Jon knew for certain was that the worst thing a werewolf could be was _lonely_.

“I don’t wanna put you out,” Tommy said, still a little flustered. “Plus, your place has hardwood. I’m gonna fuck up your property value.”

Jon laughed. “Been thinking about renovating,” he said. “Anyway, you’re careful. I’ve seen how you are.”

“You know you don’t have to spend full moons babysitting me.” Tommy had turned to look at him, a complicated expression on his face. “You’re not, it’s not an obligation because I’m—”

“I know that,” Jon said. “Tommy, c’mon. I’ve got the Peace Prize acceptance to work on, it’ll be fine.” 

He used to spend full moons on the campaign trail like this, stretched out on Tommy’s bed with his laptop while Tommy paced the confines of his too-small hotel room. Tommy usually wore himself out after a few hours, and in Chicago he hadn’t had any qualms about clambering up on top of the sheets and curling up by Jon’s elbow, warm and heavy. And it wasn’t like Tommy was a pet — “We’re not dogs,” he’d said more than once, nose crinkling in mild disdain — but he’d nudge his head under Jon’s hand and go lax with pleasure when Jon stroked through his fur, just the same.

“I’m not gonna make it a habit,” Tommy finally said, shifting press releases into his outbox. “I like our kitchen. The tile’s nice. Lovett can— well, he can get over himself.”

“Don’t worry about Lovett,” Jon told him. “He’ll come around.”

———

“It’s the whole family.” 

A sheaf of papers slammed down on Jon’s desk. “Jesus,” Jon spat out, jerking his head up from his laptop. “Lovett. Don’t— don’t do that.”

“His whole family,” Lovett said again, shrill. “What the fuck!”

“His whole— is this about Tommy? Did you just look it up?” The last part of that sentence came out hazy, as Jon bit down a yawn. He needed more sleep; he’d been needing more sleep since 2004. “Dude, I’m not— we’re not in second grade, I’m not passing him notes for you. Go talk to him if you care so much.”

“Yeah, right, _obviously_ ,” Lovett said, “I looked it up because that’s the normal thing to do, like everyone knows that’s— jesus, I’m not doing _oppo_ , I’m not going around Googling people I’m trying to befriend— anyway, not like there weren’t enough profiles about Obama’s boy genius speechwriter in my face, I didn’t need—”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Lovett shoved the papers into Jon’s hands, sullen. “Here’s the stuff for Copenhagen.”

“You’re turning in a draft early?” Jon said, lifting an eyebrow, but Lovett didn’t rise to the bait. He sighed. “Look, the full moon’s next week. If you wanna know about it you can just be there, you know.”

“Be _where_ ,” Lovett demanded. “I live there! I mean, I guess I didn’t rate an invitation to the secret werewolf cabal before moving in, that’s cool, just a huge part of someone’s life I didn’t know about, not even worth mentioning—”

“Actually, he’s coming over to my place, so—”

“Oh, so now I’m not even allowed to be in the same building—”

“I just invited you,” Jon said, exasperated. Lovett was impossible when he got like this. “Now you know about it. So if you wanna take a break from being offended any time soon—”

“That’s _not_ what this is about,” Lovett said, turning on his heels. “Don’t think I don’t sense your mockery, Favreau.”

“When you see Cody,” Jon said to his back, “tell him I need the Afghanistan remarks.”

“We’re not in second grade,” Lovett parroted as he left. “I’m not passing him notes.”

Jon watched the door swing shut and went back to his laptop, but the speech wasn’t coming together. He was still trying to find the right words when Cody came by to drop off his latest draft.

———

By now Jon knew the routine, which meant he could see how Tommy got more snappish as Tuesday drew near. _We’re checking out_ , he texted Lovett at seven, then put his phone in his pocket and went down to the press office.

“Stop yelling at the reporters in your inbox,” he told Tommy, shoulder pressed against the doorframe. “Better for everyone if you save it ’til morning.”

“They deserve it,” Tommy muttered, “every single one of ’em,” but he pushed his chair back from his desk and shook his head, jerky. It was a motion Jon had seen often; he could clearly imagine the swiveling ears, their irritated twitch. “Yeah, all right.”

They picked up burgers on the way and took the usual bus home. Jon didn’t miss the way Tommy’s fingers were wrapped tight around the pole all through the ride. “You okay?” he asked when they got off at their stop. “We could’ve taken a cab.”

“Didn’t wanna take you out of the way,” Tommy said. “I don’t know if you talked to— never mind, forget that. I’m just— _itchy_. All this fucking concrete. You know my mom told me not to go into politics? Had a whole list of friendly academic institutions. Teach philosophy, she said. Go out to some tiny liberal arts college with lots of woodland.”

“Still could,” Jon said slyly, and watched Tommy throw his head back and laugh.

“No, I couldn’t.”

Jon grinned. “POTUS would never forgive you.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “That, too.”

———

Jon let Tommy pace ahead and circle back while they walked up R Street, and when they got up to the apartment he took the food and went to find a plate. “You can get changed now,” he told Tommy over his shoulder. “If you want. Use the bedroom.”

Tommy liked to change before moonrise. “If I have to,” he used to say, “I’d rather jump than get pushed, you know?” Jon could understand that. Tommy liked having control. It was one of the biggest paradoxes about him, the way he could hold himself in restraint twenty-eight days of the month, and the one day he couldn’t. Or maybe that was causation. Maybe Jon would’ve turned out the same way, if he’d grown up a werewolf.

Tommy had said something else, Jon remembered suddenly. “Makes the morning after easier.” Like it was a fight, every time he came back.

Tommy left the double doors open a fraction when he went in to change. Jon had given up on the topic of door knobs after the third argument they’d had; it was still, to date, one of the only times he’d seen Tommy genuinely upset at him. Glancing over, he saw a brief glimpse of a pale back before Tommy moved out of sight, then went back to peeling the buns off Tommy’s burgers. He’d just put the whole thing on the ground and settled on the sofa when a muted thump came from the direction of the bedroom.

Tommy padded out slowly, shouldering his way through the doors. Jon always forgot, was struck anew by the sheer size of him, the bulk of his shoulders. Tommy was taller than Jon when he rose up onto his hind legs, as a wolf, and even on all fours he still came up above Jon’s hips.

“Hey,” he said, unwrapping his own burger. Tommy came straight for him, circling the couch twice before he settled by Jon’s feet. He pulled the plate toward him with a paw and swallowed the first burger in two neat bites, lingered over the second; he was just licking the plate clean when Jon finished his and pulled up his draft of the acceptance speech again.

Tommy whined and pressed his head up into Jon’s lap.

Normal wolves probably didn’t come in blond. Maybe that wasn’t correct for Tommy, either; he was a shock of white, nearly silver, and when the moon was clear it picked out faint flickers of gold in his coat. All the Vietor wolves were like that — Tommy had shown him a picture once, six or seven of them scattered outside the farmhouse in Maryland. Looking at it, Jon could see why Tommy had always preferred sharing living quarters with other people.

“I’m psyching myself out,” he admitted, stroking one of the pointed ears. “It’s worse than the State of the Union. I keep almost figuring out how to ignore the hype, and then there’s a panel on CNN and I lose it.”

Tommy let out a soft growl, one that Jon could feel roll through his entire body. Jon laughed.

“Not gonna think about it tonight,” he said. “Still a week before POTUS has to be in Oslo, that’s plenty of time. Probably,” he amended at Tommy’s skeptical whuff. “Listen, don’t tell me how to do my job.”

Tommy sat back and cocked his head at Jon, unblinking. Then he heaved himself up and trotted across the room. Jon grinned. It was a familiar sight, Tommy starting to pace by the front door while the moon gleamed out the window. Jon could almost imagine himself back in Chicago in 2007, two weeks to the Jefferson-Jackson dinner and pulling together remarks for a speech in South Carolina no one would remember.

“Thanks, Tom,” he said, settling his laptop more securely across his thighs. As he wrote, the click of claws on wood kept on, steady in his ears.

———

_Peace is not merely the absence of visible conflict. Only a just peace based on the inherent rights and dignity of every individual can be lasting._

Lovett’s reply came half a minute after Jon hit send: _Do you know what time it is_

He didn’t, actually. When he glanced at it, the clock proclaimed it a little past two. Tommy had lain down by Jon’s feet at some point during the night. His head was between his paws, his ears drooping. He looked exhausted.

The next full moon was on New Year’s Eve. That was good, Jon thought. Tommy would be home; he could stretch his legs, get out in the fresh air instead of being cooped up between four walls, the unrelenting press of the city. It couldn’t have been healthy for him, working in Washington year after year. There was a reason you didn’t see many werewolves in national politics.

 _You’re awake_ , Jon pointed out, sinking deeper into the cushions. _What do you think, too much?_

This time the answer was quicker. _You’re a maniac_ , Lovett said, _an incurable workaholic_. There was a pause. _POTUS is gonna slip an adverb in there at the end, you might as well_

Jon went back to the sentence. Lovett was right; it was a correction Jon had made to his work more than once. Maybe he was more tired than he thought. Now that he’d stopped focusing on words, he could feel fatigue beginning to steal up on him.

 _Come over and help_ , he typed, and sent before he could think about it.

He could see Lovett typing for quite a while. _Once again, do you know what time it is_

_Like you haven’t been out later_

_Maybe YOU have, Mr. Hottest-speechwriter-in-DC_

Jon exhaled softly between his teeth. Tommy’s ears twitched at that, but he readily put his head down again when Jon assured him, “It’s okay.” The fur at the back of his neck took a moment longer to lie flat.

 _Just come over_ , Jon ended up saying, because— well, there was no reason why Lovett shouldn’t be here. It was stupid that Lovett wasn’t, Jon thought, rubbing a hand over his face, when he wanted to be, and Jon wanted him to be, and Tommy—

 _What about Tommy_ , came Lovett’s reply, and Jon thought about the way Tommy’s expression had twisted when he said he couldn’t leave DC, the wistful way he’d talked about having a pack. Jon had looked up, once, what that meant, exactly. He’d thought it’d be more complicated.

For werewolves, _pack_ meant those you spent the full moon with.

He sent back a picture of Tommy, lying quiet and unmoving at the foot of the couch, then turned his BlackBerry off.

———

Jon was nearly asleep when Tommy bounded to his feet, the whole line of his body quivering. A few seconds later, there came a sharp rap at the door.

“Lovett,” Jon rasped, and got up to let him in. It took a moment to get the lock open, fingers clumsy with sleep. “Hey.”

“My cab driver gave me a _very_ judgmental look,” said Lovett, stepping inside. “So did Mark the door guy when he let me up. You’re really trashing my reputation. You know it’s raining out there?”

Lovett’s hair looked a bit damp, curling around the top of his ears. “Maybe like, misting,” Jon said, stumbling back, and ran into something solid behind his calves. “Shit. Sorry.”

“So.” Lovett peered around Jon curiously, keeping his distance. “That’s. Uh.”

“Tommy,” Jon said. “Yeah.”

When Jon first saw Tommy like this, he’d been 23. Tommy had seemed even bigger then, crammed between the walls of his U Street condo, stiff-legged from nerves. And Jon had thought, looking at him, that he hadn’t needed any of Tommy’s careful warnings; that whatever fundamental difference there was between a wolf and a dog, something in Jon knew instinctively which this was.

Still, faced with the wolf’s stare, the same steely blue as Tommy’s, it had never occurred to Jon to be afraid.

Lovett couldn’t keep still; he kept shoving his hands into his pockets and then taking them back out, a sure sign of discomfort. “Should I,” he said, “what do I—”

Tommy answered that for him by shouldering his way past Jon. For a moment he was frozen between them, one bright eye fixed on Lovett, unmoving; he could’ve been a statue. Jon thought suddenly of the lions in front of Union Station he’d passed by a thousand times. If he reached out to press a hand to Tommy’s flank, it might have even felt the same, the muscle underneath gone stiff with tension. Then Tommy stirred — kept going, one paw set lightly in front of the other — until he came to a stop in front of Lovett and sat, feet folded primly beneath him.

With a whine, Tommy ducked his head and started pushing at Lovett’s knees, insistent.

“Um,” Lovett said.

“Too tall,” Jon said helpfully. “You should sit.”

“First time I’ve ever been told that,” Lovett muttered, but he was already lowering himself to the floor. He’d barely gotten himself settled when Tommy set his front paws on Lovett’s knees so he could rise up and press his nose into the crook of Lovett’s neck.

“That’s freezing,” Lovett complained. “How would you like it if I did that to you?” 

Lovett’s hands had come up, automatic, a loose circle around Tommy’s body. Jon saw the way Lovett hesitated before he could touch. “You can,” he said, and slid down onto the floor himself, trying to blink through the tiredness in his eyes. “He likes, um, he likes when you—”

He didn’t need to finish. It was impossible to miss the shiver that ran through Tommy when Lovett let his hands drop onto Tommy’s coat. “You know,” Lovett told Tommy, “this is not at all what I expected,” but he kept on petting him, small, tentative strokes along the curve of his spine. 

Tommy huffed out a breath that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Jon saw the slow ripple of muscles all along Tommy’s hindquarters, knew what would happen a split second before Tommy shifted his weight. He’d played that trick on Jon more than once, lazy nights in the Senate when a presidential campaign still seemed far over the horizon. Lovett never had a chance.

Lovett’s shoulders hit the floor with a thump; Tommy scrambled on top of him in a flash. Lovett only just managed get out a squashed sort of protest before Tommy ducked his head down and started licking at Lovett’s ear.

“Oh my god,” Lovett said, laughing breathlessly. “You’re a menace. This is _bullying_ , I’m being bullied by Obama bros. The ethics office will definitely be hearing about it tomorrow.”

Tommy was ignoring him in favor of licking down Lovett’s throat. “See,” Jon said, offering Lovett a hazy grin. “Told you you should come over.”

“Right, in the middle of the night, so I could get attacked,” Lovett said, trying to sit up. Tommy let him. “Yeah, a fantastic plan.” His smile softened; his fingers were still buried in Tommy’s fur. “Um. Thanks.”

“Any time,” Jon managed to say, then a yawn swallowed up the rest. It was probably time to concede defeat. “Jesus, I gotta crash.”

“I can go,” Lovett said, getting to his feet. There was something fragile in the way he said it, light and careful. Jon had spent two years writing about hope as a solid, enduring thing; Lovett handled it like he was out of practice, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch. 

Tommy delicately closed his jaws around Lovett’s wrist, and tugged. 

It was easy for Jon to tell what Tommy wanted, most of the time, even when he was a wolf. It was even easier when it was something he wanted himself.

“Don’t,” he said. “Even Tommy’s not big enough to take up the rest of the bed.”

Tommy let out a high, pleading whine. Lovett looked down at him, back at Jon. “I,” he said. Stopped and let out a shaky laugh. “Look, it’s been a weird night.”

“Stay,” Jon said, to Lovett and Tommy both, and Lovett rubbed over his eyes with his free hand, said, “Yeah, all right,” the corner of his mouth twitching. “Sure. Why not.”

So Lovett arranged himself gingerly along one side of Jon’s bed; Tommy settled between them with a contented huff. Jon was trying to untangle the quiet sounds of Lovett’s breathing from Tommy’s when, somewhere between one thought and the next, he fell, quite gently, into sleep.

———

When Jon woke, light was just beginning to dawn outside, cool and gray. Tommy was pressed firmly to Jon’s side, a tight lump of fur with his tail laid neatly over his snout, but when Jon sat up he found Lovett perched on the piano bench, feet drawn up so he could sit cross-legged with his elbows braced on his knees, staring at them both.

“Shouldn’t he have turned back?” Lovett said, a worried crinkle over his nose. “I mean, I don’t know how this works, honestly _full moon_ seems like a flawed concept considering orbital motion is a continuous process—”

“Lovett,” Jon said tiredly, “it’s way too early to talk about physics,” and slipped out of bed. It was a new experience, Tommy dozing on while Jon watched; all these times before, Jon had stirred to find Tommy himself again, pale and drawn in the morning light, shrugging back into his shirt. “Hey,” he’d say, offering Jon a faint smile, and Jon had never known if that was a part of Tommy’s life he wasn’t allowed to touch. It’d felt presumptuous to ask.

But Lovett would; given the choice, he’d always ask. The thing about Lovett was that for him, the uncertainty of not knowing outweighed the risk of leaping, every time.

“Look, tolerance is all well and good but he can’t actually come into work like this. What’s he gonna do, brief Mike Allen by barking from the podium? We get twenty million emails a day. _Pardon the typos, sent without opposable thumbs_. Come _on_.”

Tommy had left his clothes folded on top of the dresser. “He’s gonna want those,” Jon said, ignoring the increasingly hysterical tinge to Lovett’s chatter, and shifted them over to the night table so they’d be in Tommy’s line of sight when he woke up. “Tommy doesn’t bark, he’s a wolf,” he said, dragging a sheet over Tommy’s form, taking care to keep his head and forepaws free. “Lovett, what are you even talking about?”

“I don’t know,” Lovett snapped. “Sorry I’ve only known about this for five days instead of five _years_. You know when I was young my mom was like, if you ever see a husky-type stray you shouldn’t go near it in case it’s a wolf that got stuck instead of a dog—”

“Your mom also said that if you ever _touched_ a cigarette you were gonna die of lung cancer,” Jon pointed out, even though he couldn’t quite shake the memory of Tommy two days before the Pennsylvania primary, worn thin and miserable by the campaign. _Makes it easier_ , Tommy had said in their hotel room, ducking into the bathroom to change, and Jon was struck by the fact that he’d never considered that there might be times it was hard. Tommy had never said, had never brought it up again. “I don’t think werewolves can get stuck,” he told Lovett anyway. “I’m pretty sure. Feels like Louise might’ve mentioned it, if that was a real thing.” 

Lovett wasn’t soothed. “ _How_ sure,” he demanded. “You’ve gotta be really fucking sure, because if this is one of those low-probability, high-risk scenarios I don’t think you can get away with just being _pretty sure_ —”

“He’s gonna come back,” Jon said, and that at least was the absolute truth, because Jon couldn’t say anything about other werewolves but he could say this. “It’s Tommy. Of course he will.”

Lovett was just opening his mouth to respond when Tommy let out a faint whimper.

They both turned to look. Tommy’s forelegs were twitching, his ears flicking back and forth, and as Jon watched, his body gave a restless jerk beneath the sheet, and then went still.

He looked, Jon thought, like he was having a bad dream—like he was lost and frightened, and without thinking about it Jon took a step forward.

“What are you doing,” Lovett said, but he was hopping off the piano bench to come stand by Tommy from the other side, looking uncertainly down at him. “Is he hurt?”

“I don’t know,” Jon said, and reached out to put one hand on Tommy’s trembling shoulder. 

Tommy hadn’t wanted him to know. That was the thing: he’d tried his best to keep Jon an arm’s length away from this part of his life, like it’d be some kind of burden. The last time they talked about the future, the nebulous yet inevitable _after_ that would come when the Obama White House had finished, Jon had said, lazily, “Maybe I’ll get a place with door flaps preinstalled,” and seen Tommy go stiff and furious. “It’s my problem,” he’d said in the end, before they stopped talking about it for good. “You shouldn’t have to worry about dealing with it.”

And that was stupid, because Jon had never offered to do any of it out of obligation. He’d done it for the same reason Tommy read through Jon’s first lease contract and did his taxes every year and told him how to manage his 401(k): because he could, and he wanted to. So Tommy would rather spend his evenings discussing whip count than browse PackConnect for the half dozen wolves in the greater DC area meeting up for the next full moon. He could still have this, if only he’d let himself take it.

“You should,” Jon told Lovett, jerking his head, and saw him press a tentative hand to Tommy’s other shoulder. “C’mon, Tom. It’s us. Come back, all right?”

And Tommy whined, opened his eyes — always the same, Jon would know them anywhere—

—shivered, all the tension shaking out of him, and with one last, long shudder, had become himself again.

“That was anticlimactic,” Lovett said after a moment, while Tommy was catching his breath. His hand was still on Tommy’s bare shoulder, thumb stroking over a cluster of freckles beneath his shoulder blade. Jon wondered if Lovett knew he was doing it. “I kinda expected something more—”

“Involved?” Tommy suggested, and promptly burst into shaky laughter. “God, I hope not. Bad enough doing this every month.”

“You okay?” Jon asked. “You, uh. You’re normally back before I’m awake.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, muffled into the pillow. “Yeah, it’s. You know with puppies you always teach them how to change with the whole pack. Gives ’em a point of focus, ’s easier that way.”

“Are we your pack?” Lovett said, delighted. “That’s _cool_. Can other werewolves tell? Is it like—”

“Oh my god,” Tommy said. “I’m going to tell you now, that episode of Star Trek was _not_ accurate—”

“Tommy, you’re breaking my heart—”

“Anyway, it’s not—” Tommy went on, doggedly, tilting his head in Jon’s direction, “you don’t have to— it’s considered kind of impolite to drag people into werewolf affairs, actually—”

Tommy’s stepmom, Jon remembered suddenly, was human. Tommy’s parents had split up when he was twelve; that was something Tommy must’ve grown up with. “Tommy,” he said. “You’re not dragging us into it. You could’ve just asked.”

“Jon—”

“Are you saying you don’t want us,” Lovett said, jaw set stubbornly, “because I gotta say, _that_ seems pretty impolite to me—”

Pure Lovett, Jon thought, to cut straight to the problem. “Last night was nice,” he said. “I liked it. I always like it. We could do it again.”

Tommy’s shoulder twitched under his hand. “We could,” he said. “It was. Um. Yeah. Nice.”

“I cannot believe you two get paid to put words together,” Lovett said, exasperated. “To sum up: last night, fantastic. Tommy, the dumbest werewolf—”

“Hey!”

“—for all our calendars, new monthly bonding activity. Have I missed anything?”

“No,” Jon said, mouth twitching, “I think you got it.”

“One time, my cousin nearly bit my ear off,” Tommy said, loudly. “I think that was a slightly better experience than this.”

“It’s okay, Tommy,” Lovett said, while Jon dissolved into laughter. “Next time, I’ll give that a shot.”

“The worst packmates,” Tommy muttered, with only the briefest hesitation over the word, and a pleased thrill went through Jon at that. Tommy was wrong about how this worked, he thought with sudden clarity. Wolves needed a pack; that didn’t mean people didn’t need it, too.

“So if we’re all done with the mockery,” Tommy said, the tips of his ears pink, “give me a minute to get dressed.” 

“All right,” Jon said, trading one last grin with Lovett before he slid his hand off Tommy’s shoulder. It felt right, this time, waiting for Tommy to come out of the bedroom while Lovett rattled a steady stream of complaints about Jon’s decor into his ear. The machine was beginning to send the sharp scent of coffee winding through the room, and Jon felt more awake than he’d been in a long, long time.

———

Obama’s speech in Oslo went better than Jon could have ever expected, which only meant the SOTU was starting to look worryingly close. It was two days to the climate change conference in Copenhagen when Tommy texted Jon and Lovett, _What are you doing over the New Year?_

 _IDK, going home_ , Jon sent back. _Unless something else comes up_.

 _Same here_ , Lovett wrote. _Tommy, are you the something else_

It was a while before Tommy’s reply came back. _Feel free to say no_ , he said. _But we’re spending the break at my mom’s this year, and she said you guys are welcome to come._ Another moment before _full moon on the 31st_ came through — but Jon had already known that.

 _Are you inviting us to a night of werewolf debauchery_ , Lovett sent back immediately, gleeful. _Are we gonna have to update our SF-86s_

_Lovett, I TOLD you that episode wasn’t real_

_Once again, you’re crushing my dreams,_ Lovett said. _Please introduce me to your cousin who bit off your ear_

 _She didn’t_ , Tommy said. _But she might do yours if I ask nicely_. There was a pause. _Jon?_

Jon found himself smiling at his phone, unable to stop. There’d be time to worry about the SOTU, and whatever crisis came after that, and after that, but for now he had Tommy and Lovett and the promise of a full moon. _Yes_ , he said. _Of course I’ll come_.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [and prosper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16454303) by [gdgdbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gdgdbaby/pseuds/gdgdbaby)




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